Only in Dreams
by Banana Tooth
Summary: This is the sort of thing that only happens in dreams, I think. The kind of dream I haven’t had for a long time. MacStella.


**Title: **Only in Dreams

**Author:** Banana Tooth

**Rating:** T

**Classification:** Mac/Stella

**Timeline: **Following the Season 2 finale

**Disclaimer:** I am in no way connected with CBS, the CSI Franchise, or its writers, producers, or directors.

* * *

I head slowly for the break room, hoping that a cup of coffee will help me work up the energy to go home. I've managed to make it to the end of the shift, but now I feel like I can barely drag myself around.

Someone has started the coffeemaker and it's slowly dripping out a fresh pot. I step out of my shoes with a sigh of relief and stand in my stocking feet, waiting. My eyes close and my hand goes to my shoulder, kneading at the painfully knotted muscle there.

"Are you okay?" It's Mac's voice behind me, tinged with concern.

"I'm just tired," I answer, still rubbing at my shoulder. I'm too tired to even turn and face him.

He comes up behind me, so close that I can feel his warmth. The little hairs on my skin stand up and I bite my lip.

"Here," he says, and his hands replace mine on my shoulders. "It doesn't work to do it to yourself."

His hands are hard and his palms are a little rough. I can feel them rasping against my bare skin and the silky fabric of my tank top. I stand perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe. _This is the sort of thing that only happens in dreams_, I think. The kind of dream I haven't had for a long time.

He finds the knot and digs in, and I breathe in sharply. Instantly his grip loosens and he murmurs, "Sorry."

"No, it's good…" _Please, please don't stop, _I beg silently.

His hands move inward and his thumbs knead at the base of my neck, his fingers still gripping my shoulders. "You seemed a little worn out today."

My hair is up so I can feel his breath, warm on my skin, and I suppress a full-body shudder. I'm tingling all over now. I struggle to remember what he just said and to answer coherently.

"I haven't been sleeping well." I have no idea why I'm telling him, except that I know he'll sympathize, because he never sleeps well.

"Why? What's wrong?" His hands slide lower, against my shoulder blades. I lean my hands against the countertop to steady myself against the gentle pressure.

"I keep having dreams." _Shut up_, my inner voice says. _Now you'll have to tell him what you dream about._

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, and his fingertips slide down my spine to the small of my back. This time I can't help but shiver, and goose bumps rise on my arms. His left hand comes around and rests flat on my stomach to steady me while with his right he kneads with his knuckles. I wonder where he learned to do this so well.

"After Frankie…I kept dreaming that I came home, and he was there. Or I would answer the doorbell, and it was him." I leave out the part where he ties me up, or holds a knife to my throat.

"And then, I started dreaming about the bomb, and I dream that you don't make it out." My voice catches, and his hand goes still. "I keep dreaming about when I got there, and you were inside, and I was so scared, and I couldn't even think what to do…"

Tears are running down my face, but now that I've started, I can't seem to stop. "And I dream that they bring out your body, and you're all burned, or that I can see you in the window with flames all around you, and I can't do anything but watch…"

"Stella, stop!" He turns me around to face him, and I bury my face in his shirt, shaking with sobs. "It's over. We made it out. I'm okay."

"How could he _do_ it? How could he try to kill you just to prove his stupid point? Of course we're not ready. But we're doing the best we can! How is killing you going to help?"

"He didn't, Stella. Everyone's okay. And we got him." His arms tighten around me, his voice gentle and soothing against my hair.

"I was so scared, Mac. When I saw them bring you out I just started crying and I couldn't stop. And then I had to pretend that everything was okay, when you could have been killed, or hurt like Flack…"

I just keep crying until finally I've cried myself out, and I rest against him for a moment, spent and shaking. When I can speak again, I murmur, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

I try to pull back, but he holds me tight. "Stella, listen to me. You don't ever have to pretend that everything's okay. I'm always here, and if you don't want to talk to me, we'll find someone else. Don't try to handle it on your own, okay?" I nod, gulping. "It doesn't always stop the dreams, but it helps."

Without my heels, I'm a good bit shorter than he is, so his cheek is against my temple as he speaks. His voice is beautiful, gentle and calm and even, and his body is lean and hard in my arms…

Automatically, I turn my thoughts from dangerous ground. I pull away again, and this time he lets me, but he turns me back around and his hands go back to my shoulders. "I think I need to start over," he says.

I give a little gasp of laughter, and this time, I feel myself relaxing under his hands. The coffeemaker has long since finished and I pour us each a cup, putting creamer in mine and two sugars in his, all the while careful not to pull away. When I finish, his hands slide over my shoulders and down my arms as he releases me. I hand him his cup, meeting his eyes for the first time since he came in.

"Thank you, Mac." The words seem so inadequate, but I can't say what I'm really thinking. _What if I did tell him I love him?_ I think. _What would he do? _

It's a question for another day. _Someday_, I promise myself, _I'll find out_.

My words are rewarded by his rare, wide smile. "You feel like Chinese?" he asks.

Suddenly, I have more energy than I've had all day. I grin back at him. "I'm starving."

Later, when we say good night, I set my hand along his left cheek and kiss the other one. I've done that before in the lab, not exactly meaning to, but this time I let my face linger against his for the briefest moment, and when I move back, I stroke my thumb along his cheekbone. "Thanks, Mac," I say again.

He grins shyly. "It's what we do, remember?"

* * *

The next morning the alarm beeps insistently and I grope blindly to shut it off, but my hand stops in midair as something hits me. For the first time in weeks, I've slept the whole night through. 


End file.
